


Partners in Crime

by ileolai



Series: One Shots (Good Omens) [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gen, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/pseuds/ileolai
Summary: Crowley makes a friend during the Blitz.
Series: One Shots (Good Omens) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573924
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Partners in Crime

It's cold tonight in London, and It's quiet. There's an anxious sort of stillness in the air. The entire city is holding its breath, as it has night after night for months. 

  
Crowley, ambling along in the dark and distracted, trips on a pile of debris and swears. No one saw it. The streets are empty and he is alone. He doesn't mind that so much. The claustrophobic anticipation of engines overhead, he could do without that-- the entire war he could do without. The quiet lonely dark gives him some space to think, though, and he needs to think. He wanders on.

  
A clatter-crash and hollering splits the silence, jerking him back to reality. There's some sort of altercation occurring twenty feet away. A small figure pitches headlong out an open window, scrambles to their feet, and bolts straight in his direction. Crowley ducks into a side-street and waits. When the figure darts past he grabs and yanks them sideways into the alley, to safety. 

  
He has half a second to register the face of a very, very angry young girl. Then he is immediately-- and with astonishing violence-- assaulted by a stale loaf of bread.

  
''Ow, shit! Stop it-- fuck!''

  
''Let me go! Get your hands off me!''

  
''Hush!'' He hisses, while blows rain down on his head. ''They'll hear us, you idiot! Shut up!''

  
She ceases the onslaught, thank goodness. Though quiet, she glares at him with venomous defiance. 

  
Enough silence passes he feels assured that when he peeks round the corner, no one is coming. Someone kicks something in frustration. It crashes. A door slams shut, and a moment later, the window thunks down. The trash-bound bread wasn't worth it.

  
''He's gone.'' Crowley loosens his grip, and she yanks her arm away. ''You're safe.''

  
''Are you a policeman?'' 

  
''What? No! Don't be rude. Jus' wanted to help.''

  
She's made no attempt to run again, despite now having the option. That's interesting. She stays rooted to the spot, peering at him through what dim light is available with an acuminous stare. Still clutching her bread, quite ready to wield it. ''Well, you're dressed rather sharp to be out in a blackout, aren't you?''

  
Crowley gapes. She's horrible, and violent, and she wants _answers._ He likes her immediately.

  
''It's a disguise.''

  
''What do you need a disguise for?''

  
''I-- er.'' Well. She has him on the back foot already, and there's little point in prevaricating. This is the sort of person who interrogates strangers in dark alleyways. During a potential airstrike. She might smack him until she gets answers. ''I miss my friend,'' he admits. ''I'm looking for him.''

  
''You need a disguise for that? At night?''

  
''It's sort of-- um.'' Crowley sighs. ''Complicated.''

  
''Uh-huh. What's your friend like, then?''

  
''Well. Round and unbearable, I suppose. Cheery sort. Likes sweets. Crepes, specifically--''

  
''Wife at home? Kids?''

  
''Hgk? No, that's. Not my area, really.''

  
''Right. You're one of _those_.''

  
''What's that s'posed to mean?''

  
''Well, there's only a few types that skulk around after dark these days, isn't there?'' she says with a wry sort of triumph. ''And you're not the sort after bread, are you?''

  
Crowley shrugs, defeated. He has no idea what she's insinuating. Her smug and absolute assurance in whatever conclusion she's reached is admirable, nonetheless. ''You got me.''

  
''I know all about _your_ lot.'' 

  
''Gosh, you're horrible, aren't you?'' 

  
''Categorically.''

  
''What's your name?''

  
She pauses for a moment. Seems to regard him harmless enough to offer it. ''Nancy.''

  
''Crowley.'' He offers his hand politely. Her glare doesn't waver, and she doesn't take it. She also doesn't hit him again. He decides this is solid enough assurance of their blossoming friendship. ''Alright. Come on, then.''

  
''Are you arresting me?'' 

  
''I'm not a policeman!''

  
''What for, then?''

  
''Well, if you like, I'll show you how to not get caught.'' 

  
And he can _hear_ the tuttering disapproval already. Oh, it would be great fun having him toddling along on a burgling spree, wouldn't it? A reluctant accomplice in Corrupting the Children. Crowley imagines the moral scolding would be even less effective on this tiny, terrifying urchin girl than it would be on him. They could bother him _in stereo_. The righteous prat-- 

  
''Alright. Let's go then.'' 

  
He can allow himself the indulgence of imaginary squabbling later. Nancy looks impatient. ''Right-o.'' 

  
He slides away into the dark, and after a moment, her footsteps follow.

  
''You look like an idiot wearing sunglasses at night, by the way.''

  
He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to imagine those two would get along swimmingly.


End file.
